


Opening the Bible

by Trekgloria



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekgloria/pseuds/Trekgloria
Summary: Several things:Please be advised, I have added a chapter, and though the first remains non-sexual, the second is.  So, please if you want to read the first, it is safe.The first chapter is is NON Sexual, so no worries for those who don't care for that in a story.Also, in my writing, each entry is in a different handwriting, so emphasize the difference each told, however, AO3 would not let me use different fonts.  So if any one knows how to convert fonts for selected entries and not the whole thing, please share.I'm not sure this will be to everyone's liking. And I respect that.Please feel free to comment.  Writing is such a solitary activity, but it is only when shared with others can the true measure of what one does be realized.I hope some do find this to be an interesting look at one eventuality.





	1. Chapter 1

Opening the Bible

Ross poured a glass of Port, took a sip, and held the glass looking at the dark liquor. The sweet wine had never been his favorite, but more and more it was his tipple of choice. For it had been hers and she had often tasted of it when he kissed her. Ross lifed the heavy book wrapped in one of Grace's old silk shawls gently from the cupboard where it was stored. Smiling, he remembered, Demelza had hid there when her father came to take her home. Still a child but resourceful and clever, like a fox. Unfolding the fabric, he enjoyed the feel of the well bound, fine tooled leather. Setting it on his desk, it was still like new, yet now over seventy-five years since his parents had received it from Aunt Verity and Uncle Charles as a wedding gift. A Bible was a traditional gift given for the younger son and his wife upon establishing a new home and he thought of the ones Demelza had given to Drake and Sam upon their marriages. Opening the book, Ross gently turned the parchment pages, enjoying the beautiful illustrations. Ross had a new entry to add tonight. Carefully turning each leaf, he found the pages for Marriages, Births, and Deaths. Reading the entries, brought back poignant memories. 

He traced his finger along the clear, strong penmanship, he recognized as his father's. Smiling and thinking how his father was very particular about his script. As a gentlemen's son Joshua continued in school much longer than he had. From an early age, the younger son was encouraged to go into law or join the church or army for a career and expected by his family to need more formal schooling for that future. Glancing at the desk, looking for the grey goose quill his father favored, surely long gone, but so many memories fostered in this room watching his father write. 

The echo of that past inspired another memory; him teaching her to write. Demelza labored and bemoaned of her lack of breeding; that she could never master such beautiful lines of letters. Yet, Ross knew she practiced when he wasn't there to watch her. And as in all things, Demelza learned, and developed a lovely style, small and delicate. Yet he twigged and smiled at the ways she embellished letters for names; R, J, C, B, H, and P, as though they were the first letter of Biblical verse. For a moment he paused then realized they were the initials of her family, yet, she never embroidered her Ds when she signed her name. 

Looking at the first entry on the page, the marriage of Joshua Poldark and Grace Vennor, 1758. In the margin, Joshua 1724 and Grace 1740, the years of their births. He smiled, thinking of how his parents loved to tell the story of their wedding day. As a Poldark, Joshua was a member of the gentry, however his escapades as the younger son had many in wonderment at the young girl he had convinced to wed him. Though others, the females of the community knew, it was Grace who had wrought this marriage. Far too many of the guests had shared a bed with Joshua, often the same ones they shared with their husbands at night. Joshua was a noted libertine throughout the county. So prolific were Joshua’s escapades, that it was common gossip, regaled even to him when a man was in his cups; the assumption that Ross would find it admirable or a compliment to suggest that he too was such a rake.

From an early age, Joshua had seduced the females of the county. Gentry or peasant, young or old, married or no, few had been able to resist his charms. And yet, though his ardor implied Joshua had found the one he was seeking, once his desire was rewarded, he abandoned his latest conquest. Even beyond his licentious behavior, his father had little respect for the rules of polite society that bound most. Without an inheritance of land or title, Joshua found ways to quickly raise cash, freebooting. A long and honorable tradition in Cornwall, one where many turned a blind eye. High and low born, those who could afford to buy the untaxed goods and those who made a living from the risk accepted Joshua into their homes. Joshua was one of the best smugglers in eluding the law. Never captured by a cuckold husband or a Revenuer, though it was common knowledge of his carnal pursuits and illegal livelihood. 

Joshua possessed a canny knowledge of the sea, a mistress he ever wooed. And Joshua was respected by the people he employed as they shared a bond of faith in his skills and trust in his word. His knack as a navigator meant no cargo nor man was ever lost at sea, nor could the King's men, ever determine where he put to shore. Following in his father's footsteps, Ross learned on runs with Joshua, and later honed on his own smuggling forays; sailing was in the blood. Then a realization, that of his mother, Verity, and even Demelza, all had loved navigators. What was it about sailors that resonated so passionately in these woman? The only mistress his father kept after Grace married him was the sea. One his mother obliged, if grudgingly, perhaps only out of fear of the sea stealing him from her. Ross recalled how as a young child, when asked where was Papa, Grace would reply; "His sea fever has come upon him." and looked towards the door. 

Grace was sixteen years younger than Joshua, and yet she was the mature, stable, and competent of the two. Born to an ancient Cornwall family, she was well schooled in all the finer points of managing an estate. When they first met, Joshua had tried to lure her to his bed. But Grace was not to be taken lightly. She accepted his attentions but gave nothing in return. Joshua would marry her and settle or he would quit his attentions to her. Her love and honor were not negotiable. And Joshua quickly acceded to her requirements. Anything to please Grace. Even before she wed Joshua, Grace required land and a home. Nothing excessive, she needed little of finer trappings, and the house could always grow as they needed. Together Joshua and Grace designed a solid and functional home to begin their lives as husband and wife with the expectation of children. And while Grace lived, Joshua had been the model husband. Managing his mines, Wheale Grace and Wheale Leasure, still smuggling a few times a year, and keeping the fields and beasts as any gentleman squire must.

Their wedding day had been perfect, attended by the local gentry and people from the villages who worked in his mines, they all came for the celebration. The rum, gin, and fine French wine flowed freely, compliments of several smuggling runs made in preparation for the wedding. Then the King's Men arrived in the middle of the party and demanded to see the tax stamps. However, Joshua was too shrewd for them. For years, he had paid several children to collect bottles with the seal and had them stored at the ready, often refilling them before selling them to any of the upper class a bit squeamish at the thought of being found with untaxed goods; something they paid dearly to own. Bottles were at the ready, while most of the smuggled cache was well hidden in plain sight. Like the kiddly winks, one only needed to wink or nod at the server. Ever hospitable, the soldiers were invited to join them the newly weds, and the celebrants' numbers increased. 

The next entry by his father was of his own name, Ross Vennor Poldark, January 1760, scarce a year after the autumn wedding of 1758. Had it been so long ago he wondered. Points in his childhood emerged in his mind, growing up with Francis and Verity, more like siblings even than his own brother, Claude Anthony. With cousin Verity barely more than a year older and Francis his own age, they were much bonded. Many days were spent at Trenwith, as Grace and Uncle Charles' wife, Aunt Verity were the best of friends. Christmas was always spent at Trenwith, as Aunt Verity loved to entertain, but needed her family to feel blessed. Yes, they had all been a family then.

The next entry, the birth of his brother, Claude Anthony Poldark 1764. He thought of another born that same year, Elizabeth. She had been such an important part of his youth. How long had he loved her he wondered, had he ever truly ceased to love her? Even in death, he had to go to her, to see her one last time. For a time Ross contemplated of what his life with her might have been. Eventually he yielded that she had moved on, thinking him dead. Though only after many years had he realized how unsuited they were for one another, as different as chalk and cheese. Yet for a time they had loved one another. A youthful infatuation, but no less painful to loose to another and eventually to death. And to such a death, he thought, why and for what? Ross suspected Dwight knew something, but never a word other than she died of complications from childbirth. But, he had smelled the fatality of gangrene; foul, putrid, sickening, and more, painfully agonizing. And to know you will die, no hope, no help, just the agony as your body rots from within. No woman died from that, what had caused it? What had she suffered in that death? 

And what had that discontented love eventually yielded? An illicit child, passed as the son of her husband, his greatest enemy. George made a cuckold by the man he hated, and even that child was now gone. Only once had he and Elizabeth ever spoke of the secret that night spawned. He realized his youthful love for Elizabeth had dire consequences for all those touch by his obsession, especially those he had loved best. But, this was all hindsight. No one who knew the truth of what happened all those years so long ago was here to listen to his regrets of what he had set in motion. The woman he needed, whom he had truly loved, satisfied him body and soul sadly had lived too long in her marriage to him in the shadow that was cast by Elizabeth across his heart. 

The next entry, Grace Poldrk, 9th of May, 1770, his mother had nursed her parents to their during the epidemic, then taken by the same disease a few weeks later. He was only ten when Graced died, and sometimes he would still close his eyes and hear her sing. Her voice was fixed firmly in his mind. Often singing as she played the pianoforte, Grace had loved music, something he had enjoyed in Demelza. And the way she'd tousle his hair, and how she always smelled of flowers. And, the next entry, for his little brother, barely known, Claude Anthony, 9th January 1771.

And nothing for years to record till, Joshua Poldark , 11th March 1783 written months after the passing, by Ross, his first entry as the head of the family. Learning of his father's death brought the expected sadness at the loss. Yet, it was the second blow delivered on that same day which took him into an abysmal state, Elizabeth was to marry Francis. Of the two shocks he received on that day, one he accepted with little emotion, but the other was a wound that would fester for years before it was purged. And yet, he had no one to blame but himself. Had he gone and demanded that Elizabeth honor her youthful promise, what then might have come? Could he have given her the life she deserved? She was no Grace, to step out of her family's ancestral home and understand or bear the responsibility of penury. What had he once said: "She was born to be admired." But admiration can only exist within the realm that it needs to thrive. Nampara was not the domain for her. Elizabeth would have withered and after their youthful lust was obscured by the pain tendered as a poor man's wife, what then would have become of them. Easy to see now Ross thought, but how blind had he had been then.  


Ross recalled his mother, how she had gladly given up many fineries and reduced her lifestyle to that as wife of a humble squire. Yet, never had he heard Grace complain of her lot, love had overcome any impediments a reduced income presented. Ross thought too of Verity, how she had lived in the shadow of her families demands, with little more freedom than the housekeepers. Only Demelza had recognized the need to free Verity from a life of service to her brother and his wife. And though her act was the match, the fuse had long been laid for what followed. And yet why should Verity not have had her own life, a husband, a child? In the end, his beloved Verity had been happy, all thanks to Demelza.

Looking at the dates, Ross realized, May, such a month of full of portent for his family. May was the month Claude Anthony was born. And, it was May when Demelza offered herself to him. That night, the child he had rescued from a life of yet another beating and crippling poverty had come to him a woman. Serving him for years as a child, barely noticed. But within Nampara, Demelza had blossomed. And then that night, Demelza had offered herself with no expectation nor requirement for more than his taking her because she loved him. What had that sacrifice meant for her? As his scullery maid Demelza lived at his command, yet she requested little and tendered her passion and love to him freely. 

Three weeks later, the next entry, for his own marriage, Ross Poldrk and Demelza Carne, 24th of June 1787. In the margin, he'd written their ages, Demelza 18, though that was an anticipation by three-quarters of a year. His age, Ross 27, a decade of life separated them. Initially Ross found solace and experienced in her arms, and only gradually had his desire coalesced into love. That night, with the arrival of the pilchards, Ross realized while the fish saved the villagers from starvation, her gift had delivered him from a famine of the soul. The coming of the fish meant physical survival for the villagers, his recognition that he loved Demelza meant his return to life filled with hope and joy. Ross realized he was much like the garden Demelza found abandoned, ruined, and unfertile. As she had tenderly coaxed it back to vitality, so had she returned him to life. Demelza had found him blighted. First tending just to his daily needs, but when she joined with him, Demelza wrested the withered portions away from his essence, till he was hardy and spirited again. 

Ross owed Demelza, not just a marriage to save her reputation, nor an improvement in her status to ease her load in life, but an indebtedness for his very being and soul. His would have been a far meaner life of despair, loneliness, and spite without her love for him and his love for her. Instead, she had lifted him, given him a raison d'être. All Ross had become, had achieved, had found in life stemmed from Demelza. What Ross had discovered, ‘amor gignit amorem,’ loves begets love. So it had been for him. Demelza braved accepting him and loved him in spite of who he had been. From her generosity, pure without intent or design, Ross was loved and in return discovered he loved her. With Demelza, Ross learned love was far more than desire or passion of wanting fulfilled, but more a yearning to give all you have to another. 

Another May would come, and he was convinced it was no longer a harbinger of sadness, that was the birth of his first child, and he wrote, Julia Grace Poldark, 15th May 1788. But that joy was short lived, gone before her second birthday. That entry written by him while Demelza lay at the threshold of death, Julia Grace Poldark, 3rd January 1790, his first child, so many years in the grave now. What was the tale of babies born in May, something in the deep recess of his mine recalled the dire promise.

But his mind turned again to another May night when he stormed past Demelza, enraged, full of misery, anger, and dread. Of all his cruel behaviors, this was the one he could not find forgiveness for himself. What had been an imagined fear was made real for the one person who had loved him and Ross had betrayed her. And for what? What had he accomplished with that deed? Yes, he had loved Elizabeth, from a time he was more boy than man, thus longer and before Demelza came into his life. And truly Ross believed he had put Elizabeth behind him. But the pull was there with any contact, casual or intentional, Ross was reminded that he had loved Elizabeth and had lost her. Was it the loss that ultimately drove him? Was it Elizabeth he wanted that night? Ross could not deny his attraction and even love of her. But was it Elizabeth he took or something else? And what had he taken from Demelza with his actions? For the woman who had loved him better, for no reason other than that he lived, that he existed, he demeaned. Not for anything more, rich or poor, Demelza had loved him and he had punished and wounded her. 

Here Ross paused to see the pattern again of another foul month, January. His mother and Julia both died, and yet January was the month he'd been born. Perhaps he was the cause of so much pain to so many. Had he not been born what lives would have played out without his interference. Yes, what a liberty it was to imagine if he had not existed. The distress he caused for Francis, the dilemma and sorrow he forced on Elizabeth, and on Demelza so much heartache, worry, and pain. Perhaps they could all have met under different circumstances, been different people and had a good laugh. In the moment it was soothing to think if he had never lived. 

As he moved his finger along each entry, Jeremy, another May child he would see laid in a grave. How he had despaired to tell her. And with a letter, not even there to hold her, to comfort her. How often they had been apart Ross thought. Time, too much time spent distant. There were the births of Clowance, Isabella Rose, and finally Henry. Such a economy of life in these few entries. 

He wrote the name on a slip of paper, unable to commit this to the Bible, where it would remain through time. He was unsure he could make this stroke on the page for all to read. When Henry and his wife, Ann, a slip of a girl, so much a reminder of Demelza in so many ways, told him their choice, he’d held his tongue. Unable to honestly express why this was offensive. But Henry, so much like his mother, noticed his reticence and asked; “Was it too painful to think of her?” In that moment, he froze; was there gossip, did they revile him, and this was to be his punishment, a reprimand spoken daily. Henry born so long after, no knowledge, hearing only a mention now and then. But, Henry, so like Demelza, smiled, it was only to be an honor. No way to explain, to argue against this choice. The past could not be altered. Still, the memory as he looked at the words he wrote. What would she say? Ever pragmatic, accepting, believing in the future. Still, this was a punitive reminder, like a hair shirt he’d wear, unseen by others, yet a constant reminder of his sin and transgression. 

Looking at Henry, and recalling when Demelza told him they were to have another child, one for their sunset years. A child to enjoy, to love, a gift to share together, not apart. No longer struggling for money, settled, a chance to redefine themselves and each other, a blessing. For him, the first thought, fear, could he bear to lose her, a pregnancy so late in years, the dangers, this would be her fifth child, what if, what if, what if. The worry of death from pregnancy haunted him. Ross knew too well, all too well the danger. But, in Demelza's indomitable conviction, she would be fine, she’d never had a problem before. And though that was not completely true it is how she remember it. But what to do, the child was on it's way. And Henry had been the child she enjoyed, knowing he would be her last. The one who had fulfilled her life as the others grew and went out into the world. And, all these years later, here was Henry, the child most connected to Nampara, presenting him with his first daughter.

Caroline had come for the Christening. Rarely was she in Cornwall, visitng for this when he wrote of the birth. After Dwight died, Caroline spent most of her time divided between London and Bath. Returning only for the air in summer and to check on the estate. But Caroline had come for this addition to his family. Musing on how he initially had thought she unsuitable for Dwight. Yet, when he realized what generosity was hidden behind her comeliness, Ross arranged for them to wed. From then Caroline and Dwight had been a constant in their life. 

They had sat in this very room and spoke all afternoon of all that had gone before, so much of their lives had the four of them shared. Caroline caught him up on the gossip. She'd seen Harriett, who was currently in Bath with the girls who all had made excellent marriages. Even Ursula, who so resembled her father George. But the four of them made the rounds of society events and rarely came to Cornwall except for Christmas, the air in summer, and the hunting season. 

Of George, Caroline could only report, he rarely left his home, gout and gravel kept him confined and in constant pain. His life was quite reduced in his schemes and ability to command people now. No friends, he'd burned all his bridges and eventually his ability to laud his power slipped from his grasp. For George the lack of respect and control were the more painful of his conditions. None came to visit, if anything, Ross was the closest he had to a friend. They had finally laid to rest their animosity for Valentine. Still much of his life had been a constant sparing with George. Ross thought, perhaps his next journey to Truro he should call upon George.

As Caroline sat with him, they had reminisced on so many people, but avoided speaking of Dwight or Demelza. They both had succumbed to the pestilence that took so many 2 years past. That he would live beyond her had seemed impossible. Ten years his junior, Ross sat beside her on the bed and waited for her to rally. But this time, Demelza slipped away and left him. Holding her, begging her not to go, even in her delirium she gripped his hand one last time then stepped beyond his reach into eternity. For the first days he was benumbed. So many came to deliver their condolences, but he could not abide to share his memories of her with any. He withdrew from all, existing in his own cocoon, enraged at this turn of his life. He'd rise early and go the beach, a place both went when challenges faced them. To stare out at that endless vista, where the earth, sky, and sea came together, to remember without distraction. At any moment he expected to turn and find her waiting, as he had so often. She was intuitive of his ways, his moods, his desires.

When the Reverend came to discuss the burial, Ross told him, it would be not at the church yard, but here at Nampara. And an argument ensured, this was not hallowed ground. Then make it so, or go, he cared not. He'd seen this practice in his time in the war in the colonies, many had small family plots near the home. At the time he'd thought it odd, but now, it made sense. This is where she belonged, where she loved, where they'd loved. Not in a place filled with others. Together they had sanctified this land. Theirs had been such a personal love. 

Ross had decided on the small parcel of land, a section just beyond the wall, Demelza tended a wild garden full of the local species she collected on her walks. With a path created from stones fetched from the beach. And the Oak tree, so ancient, where she'd sat in the shade. Demelza had worked on this plot for years. When he asked her why, Demelza said, it was all of what she loved about her home, wild and full of life. When it was his time, he would be buried beside her, not in the same grave him above as most were in the churchyard. But beside her and she beside him, the way they had faced life together. 

As the party slowed, Caroline rose to go. At the door to the library she turned and in her philosophical way, suggested an appropriate nickname might be best. Saying if it were her grandchild she couldn't abide it. Ross wondered how intuitive she was. Her conversations were often couched in half statements. She would have made Unwin the perfect politician's wife. Witty, charming, beautiful, and so very astute of human nature. She was at home in the grand houses and moving in the society of the upper class. And though Caroline was all this sophisticated woman, she'd loved Dwight and Demelza. As she paused on the stoop, Caroline had noted how pale and drawn he seemed tonight.  
Saying only: "I leave for Bath tomorrow. We shall not say goodbye, I cannot bear another."  
He nodded, indeed, these last few weeks, the pains came to his heart daily, often requiring him to sit and let them pass. When Henry asked if he needed to see the new doctor, he shook his head. He had a journey to make and desired not to extend his time here.

As Ross thought about his life so succinctly reduced to these entries. He saw an edge of parchment tucked several pages back and pulled it free. There in her neat and careful script on the page in her handwriting he read:  
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,  
but on what is unseen,  
since what is seen is temporary,  
but what is unseen is eternal.  
2 Corinthians 4:18

He thought of her, while Demelza had never seemed to be overcome by religion, he knew she had a strong philosophy on life. How well Demelza understood living, life, and love. That this verse spoke to her and she had copied it, reminded him of how well she faced life. Demelza had seen him, seen through him, she knew Ross as no other ever had. What had she seen in him that gave her hope? Was she waiting for him? 

Unfolding the sheaf of parchment, Ross realized Demelza had kept her own register, she had noted other events, not of their immediate family but ones that were important to her, births, deaths, and marriages of those who intersected her life. On this page he was reminded of so many people who had been part of their lives.

Births  
1785 March - Benjamin Ross Carter  
1787 - Kate Carter  
1793 31th of October - Andrew Blamey  
1794 14th of February - Valentine 'Warleggan'  
1798 - Sarah Caroline Anne Enys  
1799 December - Ursula Warleggan  
30th November 1820 Georgie 'Warleggan'  
Marriages  
1784 - Jinny Martin and Jim Carter  
27th of July 1789 Verity Poldark and Andrew Blamey  
1793 20th of June - George Warleggan & Elizabeth Poldark  
1795 1st of November - Caroline Penvenen and Dwight Enys  
1799 December Morweena Whitworth &Drake Carne

Deaths:  
1789 18th April Jim Carter  
1789 12th of August Keren Daniel  
1792 15th of September - Francis Poldark  
1793 May The men in the mine  
1794 February - Tom Carne  
1794 November - Ray Penvenen  
1795 5th of August - Agatha Poldark  
1797 13th of September - Hugh Armitage  
1798 24th of November - Sarah Enys  
1799 April - Osborne Withworth  
1799 December - Elizabeth  
Jud Painter  
Prudie Painter  
Zackie Martin  
Captain Andrew Blamey  
1820 30th November 'Valentine 'Warleggan'  
Verity Poldark Blamey

The list continued, so many had died and Demelza had noted and mourned them. And as he read, even entries for her animals, with the simple word:  
Loved  
Tabitha Bethia  
Garrick  
Darkie

Even entries for events that punctuated their lives she had committed to the page.  
1784 Whitsun Fair Easter Tuesday  
He paused, had it really been then that he'd found her, being beaten, half starved, and dirty? What good fortune had come from one small decision. Feeding her, proving a ride, then offering her a place in his home.  
1787 May, joining  
1787 Christmas at Trenwith  
1790 The trial  
1791 Christmas, stockings  
1793 7th of May - Wheal Grace was closed (again)  
1793 4th of June Wheal Grace reopened  
1795 25th February -Wheal Leisure closed  
1st Journey to France  
Return of Dwight from France

At the bottom of the page, a folded corner, as if it were to be overlooked. He unfolded it and saw two simple entries:  
etc.  
May 1793, Ross & Elizabeth  
Tuesday, Hugh and Demelza

For a moment he froze, all the names and dates brought back so many memories that punctuated his life. But these two entries at the bottom of the page, the letters scratched upon the parchment, then folded as if to hide away, but still necessary to record. Demelza had been in agony as she wrote these dates. Unable to ignore, yet unable to give those names her normal care and grace. What had that night he went to Elizabeth meant to her. And then she took ownership of her own travail. Tears fell, again for her, his wife, for himself, for the pain, the fear, the compulsion, the loss.

Where was the difference he wondered. Surely with Hugh, he knew and was aware the man offered Demelza something he had not ever fully given. He had failed for much of their time to give her his undivided love, no fear of another, no comparison. Even his tendered apology when he realized Demelza would leave him lacked what she needed to know. What had his words been that night, more a clarification for his actions, as if his love for Elizabeth entitled him to some sort of satisfaction. Even Demelza had offered some defense for Elizabeth, suggesting she was come upon and hardly in a position to, to what he thought, defender herself, or as Demelza had suggested, he had not given Elizabeth a fair chance. 

And, Ross realized in going to Elizabeth that night, he had taken what he wanted, left like a thief in the night, and then for months been in abeyance, suspended between the two women. He had gone home to Nampara, and found Demelza, she well aware of what he had done, and yet he abandoned Elizabeth to wonder, and with no better option than the one he had demanded she renounce. His behavior was something both women had to accept, neither had an alternative, their fates for ill or good were dependent on his decision. 

Only with time had the realization of what he had in Demelza was his greater desire. Still, he was unable to separate Elizabeth from his life. When Demelza learned he had seen Elizabeth at the church, and yet had not shared their meeting at least, if not his actions. Then what was Demelza left to imagine, to believe, to think. That he and Elizabeth had continued an affair, simply married to others. And what did Demelza feel then? That was something he had ever failed to comprehend, her feelings. 

So when Hugh, ever heartening, dashing, adoring Hugh came seeking, Demelza, in her generous and open heartedness accepted. That Demelza found Hugh attractive, after all his adoration was evident to everyone, even Ross had seen it. Offering attention, romantic, chivalrous, how gratifying that must have been to her heart and soul still so sore. Still, Ross was certain Hugh wanted Demelza and would in fact have done what was necessary to take her. Yet Demelza returned to him. And told him, Hugh was but the touch of a moment, her love was only for him.

He dipped his quill in the ink and wrote the next entry for Poldark Births, one that sought to honor the mothers of Henry Poldark and Ann Glasson:  
Demelza Elizabeth Poldark   
For a moment he wanted to scratch the name out, the pain returned to his heart and blinded him. But the feeling passed and as his vision cleared, Ross realized finally, though it did not change the past, still for the rest of time Demelza would never be second best, but always come before Elizabeth.


	2. Fulfillment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised this chapter was added in hindsight and contains sexual content. I apologize as the first and what I thought would be the only chapter was posted as Non-sexual, so if you read and return or just happen upon this, please be forewarned.   
> I am appreciative that several people suggested that the story ended to abruptly. And while I had my thoughts, upon re-reading and thinking of their perspective, I was inspired to continue. I hope this works.   
> Again, any suggestions or comments are always appreciated. I just hope I continued in the vein I began.   
> Always, feedback is appreciated.

Fulfillment  
Looking at the entry, Ross smiled, yes Demelza first, forever more. He turned and looked around the room, she should be here. There were moments when he was sure she there, just out of sight, still there. If he turned quickly enough he would catch the sweep of her skirt as she hurried out the room. Even her sewing basket was on the sideboard, her where she kept it. He'd left everything as she had; expecting, hoping that she would return, take up her old habits. He told Ann she could clean, but not to change anything and the girl was very respectful. 

From the other rooms he heard the sounds of life. Ann was in the kitchen clearing the remains of the celebration and Henry was tending to Demelza Elizabeth. Perhaps Caroline was right, a nickname, My Sweetness came to mind. As he closed the Bible he saw the sheet of parchment lying beside it. Opening it once more, he thought of what all these marriages, births, and deaths had meant to them. Families intersecting, love and hate, lifetimes reduced to a few lines on a page. He looked again at that folded corner, then carefully tore it off. Now just a small scrap of paper, names and dates, but no longer connected to the lives they had lived. He placed it over the flame of the candle, it caught, and as he dropped it, the parchment and ink was consumed. Imperceptible ash floated and disappeared. Vanished into the ether, none left to know how each had hurt. If only it was so easy to purge the memory.

Finishing the Port, Ross slipped the parchment back into the Bible, others would find it some day and marvel at the woman who took the time to remember their friends. He rose and lifted the candle, leaving the Bible on the desk. Tomorrow he'd wrap it and put it away, if Ann didn't do it first. She was quite adept at putting things right in the house. As he passed the parlor, he watched Henry and Ann sitting before the fire and talking. Demelza Elizabeth asleep in her cradle. Saying good night, he climbed the stairs. This was one of the things he missed the most, going upstairs to bed together. He would put his arm around her waist, enjoying how it felt to know she was beside him. That ascending the steps together, reflected what they had achieved together.

At the top of the stairs he passed their bedroom. Yet without her to share, it was barren and cold. Instead Ross continued to the room he'd had as a child. The pain he'd experienced around his heart earlier had faded, but was still present. Removing his clothes, Ross washed his face and hands, then pulled on an old shirt, thin and with several holes, one Demelza would have already repurposed. How Demelza would have despaired to see him wearing this, even to sleep in. 

Slipping into the bed, Ross remembered how they often they ended their day. Demelza would snuggle against his chest, his arm around her shoulders and for a few minutes they would just hold one another. When she was playful, Demelza would begin to draw little circles on his chest. Though not ticklish, he would smile and squeeze her, then kiss the top of her head. Demelza would move and kiss him. Just lips to lips, so soft and warm. Those would lead to more passionate kisses. Demelza would open to him, accepting him. 

He loved to stroke her face and run his fingers though her hair. The soft curls, seemed alive at times, escaping her attempts to control them. Often bringing home ribbons, he loved to gaze at Demelza as she tied up her hair in the morning and let it down at night, then watch her brush it. Sometimes he'd take the brush from her and pull it through her hair. Watching her expression in the mirror; Demelza would close her eyes and barely open her mouth in a sigh. 

Her hair always smelled so fresh, of the flowers she tended and the soaps she made. Flecks of petals sprinkled through, like the tiny freckles that dotted her body. How often had he kissed each one; across her nose, across her chest. She would moan that they made her look coarse, like her position in life, a scullery maid. Yes, Demelza began as his servant, but her limitless determination, optimism, and spirit reflected her true character. Ross would tell her, the freckles came not from the working in the sun, but were his brands upon her body for every time they joined. 

He could hear her retort: "Then my love we shall have to be content with just kisses and cuddles. I can't abide to have more, the whole community will know of your insatiable appetite. I will die of embarrassment." 

"As you wish my dear." laughing as he continued to kiss each one, till she succumbed and begged him to join with her.

Now the hunger at night for Demelza was consuming. He'd lie in bed, thinking of the times they loved. Often his mind returned to the first time Demelza offered herself to him. That day, so many things had been wrong with his life, he'd had lost hope. That night, he returned home, angry at himself, his class, the very world. Valued for nothing more than the name you were born with, or disdained for lack of birthright. More, his failure to save the boy from the fate that ultimately brought his death. His anger, frustration, and despair gripped him that night. And then seeing Demelza in that dress, offering herself to him. Lashing out at her, a mere child playing dress up, till something inside him awakened and he saw a woman before him. 

The need for a rescue from the morass of self loathing. In her eyes he saw deliverance. With her naive wisdom, always knowing what he required. How he had enjoyed that moment when he first kissed her. The thrill to feel her lips on his, a covert desire suddenly laid bare. The softness of her lips, her warm breath, he felt a yearning long denied and longed for her. Then like a swimmer trapped underwater, freed, Ross gasped and feared he would destroy this child with his lust. Pushing her away, denying her offer. Retreating, and yet she came to him again. Her need for him, desire for him greater than his imagined virtue. 

The feel of her skin as his hands moved across her lithe body. How Demelza without hesitation accepted him. In that moment, the harsh reality of life dissolved leaving only the two of them locked in an embrace. The cares, fears, and disappointments of a lifetime became megrims spawned in a nightmare, and with her kiss he awakened and left them behind. Could he but have that night back once more. The things he would tell her, how he would take her.

Yes, he thought, to relive that night. To be young and filled with desire, to feed that hunger, and join with her once more. That moment when the dress slipped to the floor and he looked at her body. Every inch taught, coiled with energy. She stared into his eyes, unashamed, willing, and sensual. How Demelza tasted as he moved his mouth down her body and latched onto her nipple. Like a starving babe, feeling it swell, drowning in her fragrance. Again those flowers she so carefully tended, then magically captured their properties, and perfumed the house, even her body. Such a body, constantly in his presence, for so long doing his bidding, anticipating his every requirement. But now here was Demelza, again knowing his need before he, offering to fulfill his denied desires. 

How Demelza had pulled him against her, skin to skin. Hers so smooth and silky, surely his must be rough and abrasive to her, yet she accepted him. Lifting her to the bed, she seemed as light as the wind, as fragile as butterfly, but Demelza was real, not ephemeral, not an imagined whim. As he moved to take her, she placed her hands on his face, looked at him, said nothing, but lifted her lips to his. As he open his mouth, she entered him, her tongue sweet as the wine she favored, met his. Her hands on his back, her strong fingers, kneading his muscles, bewitching his mind as she inflamed his body.

Placing his body between her legs, feeling the silky skin of her inner thighs wrap around his hips. Instinctual, she tipped her hips to await his penetrating her. His cock so hard, so long denied the sensuality of human touch to bond. As he began to enter her, he now rethought, how she had been a virgin, no question then or now. Yet any concern in that initial penetration had not troubled his mind that night. Only that ache, that yearning, that desire for her drove him. And what an exquisite sensation to be the first man to join with her. Perhaps he had been as virginal as she that night, for he had no notion of what would come from this. But Demelza had braved him. As he pushed against her body, he felt her withstand his battering, no measure of uncertainty, no shrinking from the pain. With a kiss, he fully entered her, and in that moment all hurts dissipated. He was reborn.

The bliss of being inside this woman, no longer a child, no longer his scullery maid. Instead his equal, perhaps his better for Demelza had the temerity to chance what she wanted. But as he rested fully ensconced within her sheath, so tight, experiencing for the first time being filled by a man, Demelza moaned and clung to him. In the moment he was alive and adoring. 

The desire, the need to feel his cock as it moved within her overcame and he could no longer resist. With each penetration, she moaned and gripped him tighter, pulled his face to hers and kissed him. Her tight sheath, so warm seemed to caress him with each stroke. Always before sex had been something done to bring an end, no sense of connection to that person, satisfaction was only the physical easing, and then a retreat. But this, while all the pleasure was there, contained something far more, yet he knew not how to define it. Was it Demelza because she wanted him, not for anything he had to offer her, except himself? Was it because she was young and pleasing and any man would have relished being the desire of such a woman? Was it something he had no name for, for he had no knowledge of it till this moment?

Demelza had become a woman in that instant when he entered her. And now, she responded, driven by her own desires, her own pleasure in his taking her. She moaned, she kissed him, she joined in the setting the rhythm and gave him such pleasure. The tightness of her sheath molded to him, allowed him to slide securely, to possess and be possessed by this woman. 

In what seemed like an instant, his need to spend came upon him, not wanting this moment to end, he looked at her, meaning to apologize, but she returned his gaze and smiled. Suddenly she called words, random words of pleasure, tilted her head back and he knew she was experiencing her first release. The throbbing of her sheath tightened on his cock and he could no longer resist. Burying his nose to her neck to inhale her fragrance, Ross released his seed deep at her womb. Emptied, satisfied, a balm to his very soul, he moved to kiss her, to be filled by her. 

Exhausted, Ross rolled off her slim body and pulled her tight against his. He could not bear to be parted from her. Ross needed to have her body touching his, like a shield that would protect him. Her face was nestled against his chest, he could feel her breathing, her hands moved to stroke his chest. Slow sweeps of her hands across his skin, calming him. He realized Demelza possessed cunning to tame the wildest creature. Her touch was magic, she'd captured him and now he could not imagine another outcome. Slowly his heart beat synchronized with hers. The pleasure of this joining had eased his ache and though he meant to speak to her, no words rose, instead that ancient god Morpheus stole him away and he slept.

How long he slept did not know. Surely this had been but a dream. Yet he woke and she was still nestled in his arms. From her breathing he knew she too slept. For a moment he looked at her, so young, and yet possessed an ancient wisdom. He wanted her again. What should have been a passing need for release had not been satisfied, rather it only increased his passion. He had acquiesced to her, but would Demelza accept him now. Would she regret her decision and fear his attentions? How could he induce her to allow him access to her most intimate place again? 

Almost afraid to move, to disturb her for fear Demelza would wake and withdraw in horror at her realization of what he'd done to her. But his need for her was greater and he shifted to face her, wanting to see her eyes when she looked at him upon waking, to know what she truly felt. The moon filled room and allowed him to see her face, relaxed, still innocent, surely no one would suspect he'd done this too her. No evidence to indict him as a stealer of this maiden's virginity. Though the gossips surely would read his face and know he was a despoiler. 

Yet, his desire overcame his restraint and he kissed her. Her lips curled in a smile and she sighed. As he watched, her eyes opened and only a clear steadfast gaze met his. She was not horrified, but receptive and willing. Unable to voice his intentions he kissed her again, deep, his tongue reaching into her, and he was met with a return. Pulling his face against hers, Demelza was consenting to his attentions. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top, he needed to watch her, to be sure she was agreed, was satisfied by him. He held her hips and moved her groin to his. Her breasts so round and firm, dangled above his lips, and he like Adam could only place his lips upon them and enjoy the forbidden fruit she offered. Sucking on one, then the other, feeling each nipple harden and respond to his attentions. Demelza moaned and rubbed her groin against his. 

Ross wanted to enter her, to feel that contentment of body and mind once again. Yet, knowing how quickly he would reach his satisfaction, he restrained himself and cradled her body on his. The heat of her body along his, searing a brand on his skin, surely all would see. The gossips would point, here was the evidence of his debauching his kitchen maid. But Demelza was at ease being held in his arms, placing kisses on his neck. Ross wanted to tell her what this meant to him, and raised his head, she shyly lifted her face to his, as he looked at her, he whispered only; "Demelza."   
But before he could say anything else, she kissed him and shifted till his cock was once again at her sheath. A single word from her; "Please."   
Ross could resist no longer and guided her upon his cock aching to feel her sheath surround it. No barrier this time, he slid in and ground her tight upon his groin. Demelza raised herself, straddling him and responded in kind. She seemed to already know his rhythm, as she seemed to know his every other want or need and met him stroke for stroke. Sliding in and out, he could feel how tightly her sheath gripped him as if loath to let him pull away from her, and in turn, seemed to squeeze him once he was completely touching her womb. Though he was far from the reprobate his father had been, rarely taking satisfaction from the working women. Yet in this moment Ross realized how extraordinary their joining was. Somehow what he lacked, she fulfilled. 

As her pace increased, Ross realized he would soon spend again and held her tight, till he felt the pulsing of her sheath and with that, he again spilled his seed at her womb. The pleasure of this joining was beyond longing and lust. Rather this time was his initiating, and after having been so well satisfied earlier, the feeling he experienced now was something beyond lust. His craving for her, unsure of how to understand, yet it left him feeling defensive of her, determined to protect her. Again, he wanted to tell her not to worry, he would look after her. Still he was unable to speak, for fear to make what Demelza had offered him coarse and imply he had used her for his own end. Rolling Demelza beside him, Ross held her tight against his side. While he meant to make her feel safe, he realized how secure he felt with her so firmly curled beside him. 

Yes, that is what I need again, the protected feeling that always came when in her arms. Once again all the ills of the world beyond reaching me because she could hide me behind her veil of sanctuary. The memory of the first night reminding him of what he'd lost. And Demelza could no longer come to him, he would need to make the journey to her. Turning, Ross slipped into sleep. The dream came again, but this time he was determined to pursue her and rose from the bed and went downstairs. Henry and Ann were still talking and took no notice of him as he paused to look at the child asleep in the cradle and whispered, My Sweetness. 

Leaving Nampara he made his way to cliff. Some how time seemed out of sort. It was early evening and still light out, though he'd gone to bed after sunset and he was dressed but could not recall doing it. But time mattered not, for just below he saw her walking along the beach at the water's edge. He was determined, he had waited too long, and hurried on finally reaching her.

"I've been waiting for you Ross." As she slipped her hand in his.


End file.
